The hand-by-hand journey of Tessa’s body began that night and extended four days. Taken as a whole (or in parts), it was an agonizingly delicious torture that Joseph had never known.
He began with her neck. He spread a gentle, cool hand from her jaw to her clavicle, and he kissed her. She laughed at first, she complained about ticklishness, but soon she was nuzzling in to his hand; a minute later, she was tugging at his wrist, willing him to do more. After four minutes, she was writhing beside him, begging him to engage his fingers, to caress, to touch her anywhere, everywhere.
He tried so very hard to be cool and languid and in control. Sensuality would be lost if he was cautious or trembly or behaved as if he had no idea what he was doing. Still, when four minutes had passed, and he could finally trace the line of her throat with this his fingertip, his hand shook. He was so very determined. He wanted to reclaim her neck, exactly the spot where that blackguard had pinned her to the tree. With determination and love, he seared a new, sensual, safe memory where a terrible one had been.
In the morning, he gave the same treatment to her bare breasts—one hand spread from the peak of one to the peak of the other. She was shouting his name and he was panting audibly before the minutes were up.
In the days that followed, in stolen moments when they were not exploring the town and County Durham, when they weren’t laughing over meals or caring for the baby, he laid hands on the pulse point of her wrists, her raised knee on the outside of her gown; he touched the underside of the swell of her bottom while she lay on her stomach. And eventually, he touched the very center of her.
By design, he would save her ankle for last.
Through every other part of her body, never once did she panic, although she did moan in sensual frustration, she begged, she squirmed, she lifted off the bed. She loved and hated the sessions, and he regarded them with the same polar ferocity.
By the day they were meant to ride into the country to view a potential future house, they were both drunk with need. The dreaded, pre-lovemaking discussions had all but disappeared. They fell against each whenever they were alone, hands hungry, lips open, bodies surging.
As Joseph suggested, carriages were not exempt from this behavior. Carriages, in fact, were one of their favorite settings. Something about the light of day, the gentle sway of the vehicle; they were upright (or partly upright), he could reach all the way around her body, and there existed a new level of naughtiness. Tessa said this made her feel bolder, less like a pupil and more like an explorer.
By Joseph’s calculation, they had “explored” every significant part of her body except her ankle. After that, he hoped she would be ready to endeavor the ultimate expedition of more traditional lovemaking.... possibly with some culminating end.
Joseph, honestly, had stopped thinking about when and how much and—and, wellwhen. To think about it was to experience buckling knees, lost train of thought, and conversations paused in the middle. It did him no favors to think of how much would happen when.
Honestly, he couldn’t believe that he still walked upright.
Instead, he explored his wife’s body just as he promised, one beautiful, slowly awakening part at a time.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tessa wore a dress the color of crushed violets for the carriage ride to the potential new house. Joseph had stopped dead when she’d bustled out in the ensemble, staring in open appreciation. She had smiled and glowed in satisfaction, discussing the care of the baby with Perry. It had felt so very gratifying to wear her old gowns and hats. She walked taller, she spoke in a voice that felt more like her own; and the appreciation in Joseph’s eyes made her feel desired. The months in the drab browns and greys had made her feel as if she was slowly disappearing from view.
The decision had been made to leave the baby with Perry for their journey to see the potential new house. They’d brought him along on several of their previous rambles, but Joseph was so very excited to show her this mysterious property. Tessa looked forward to seeing it with no distractions.
“Is it far?” she asked, settling beside him on the carriage seat. She would prefer their future home to be close to the dockyard.
“Not far. A twenty-minute ride. You can see the sea from the topmost room.”
“Top room?” she asked. “Joseph, this doesn’t sound like a cottage.”
“’Tis a cottage. Says it, right in the name. Abbotsford Cottage.”
“It has aname?” Tessa knew what to expect from houses with names. Berymede was a prime example, and one of the finest estates in Surrey.
“Of course it has a name, how else should we find it?”
“Howhavewe found it?”
“We asked around about property for sale until we were tipped off to it. The sellers have a sentimental attachment to it and wish to meet prospective buyers in person. They were not available until today.”
“And you’ve seen it?” she asked.
“From horseback,” he said.
“What if the buyers don’t care for us?”
“And what would they not love about the two of us?” he asked. “Beautiful wife, shipping-merchant husband with political aspirations. Adorable baby.”
“What if they discern your sordid history?” she teased, snaking a hand around his arm. “What if they believe you to be an upstart former servant?”
“Then I shall say I am an upstart former servant and show them the size of my purse,” he sighed, stretching out and tipping his hat. He closed his eyes. They were both exhausted. Not-making-love took quite a bit of time they would have otherwise spent sleeping.
